The king, sir, hath laid, that in a dozen passes
between yourself and him, he shall not exceed you
three hits: he hath laid on twelve for nine; and it
would come to immediate trial, if your lordship
would vouchsafe the answer.
How if I answer ‘no’?
I mean, my lord, the opposition of your person in trial.
Sir, I will walk here in the hall: if it please his
majesty, ’tis the breathing time of day with me; let
the foils be brought, the gentleman willing, and the
king hold his purpose, I will win for him an I can;
if not, I will gain nothing but my shame and the odd hits.
Shall I re-deliver you e’en so?
To this effect, sir; after what flourish your nature will.
I commend my duty to your lordship.
He does well to commend it himself; there are no
tongues else for’s turn.
This lapwing runs away with the shell on his head.
He did comply with his dug, before he sucked it.
Thus has he—and many more of the same bevy that I
know the dressy age dotes on—only got the tune of
the time and outward habit of encounter; a kind of
yesty collection, which carries them through and
through the most fond and winnowed opinions; and do
but blow them to their trial, the bubbles are out.
Enter a Lord